


IN THE HALL OF THE MOUNTAIN KING

by charlie4short



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Blood Kink, Bottom Benny Lafitte, Canon Compliant, Dean in Purgatory, Dubious Consent, Hurt Benny Lafitte, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Purgatory, Purgatory Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, Top Dean Winchester, fang kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-23 12:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14332971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlie4short/pseuds/charlie4short
Summary: Listen to the dialogue between Dean and Benny, particularly their first meeting (8.01, included in this story), and tell me Benny did NOT make it his goal to get into Dean's pants from the very beginning.  Now think about a man with Dean's sex drive trapped in an adrenaline-and-testosterone-fueled universe where 'sin' is not even a part of the vocabulary.  Finally, picture that man confronted with ice-blue eyes and a seductive Louisiana drawl, and tell me Dean would not give in, especially since Alastair had already forced him to learn how good sex with another man could feel.Now that you can see where this head-canon (for me) originated from, grab a glass of ice chips to chew on and enjoy the ride.





	1. Man In The Wilderness

**Author's Note:**

> _To those of you have been following “Breathe” and “Forty Years”: I apologize for breaking from those stories to get this earworm out of my head. Most of you have written some yourselves, so I’m sure you know what I mean when I say that this one just got in there and **burned**. I had to get it out, to cool that flame, before I could go back to the stories featuring our broken and tormented hero. _
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> _I hope it burns you, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from the Styx song that plays in the background during 8.01 when Dean is on his way to return Benny's soul to his body.
> 
> The initial dialogue between Benny and Dean is copied straight from Season 8 episode 01, "We Need To Talk About Kevin". 
> 
> The work title is the song that Benny whistled when he casually slaughtered monsters in Purgatory -- a display of confidence that always, along with that voice and those eyes, sets my blood on fire.

* * *

 

Rumors had come to them of a man.  A _real_ man --  all flesh and blood and soul of him -- here, in Purgatory.

With an angel.  

The angel was off limits: the Leviathan had lain claim to _that_ particular treat.

But the human?  That tender morsel was up for grabs.

 

And Lucifer help the monster that dared to try.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t pay to rush things in Purgatory.  Not when it was every monster for itself, when night and day blended into one, when terrain could change right under your feet and a friend was only a friend as long as he needed you.

No, it didn’t pay to rush things here.

 

* * *

 

The vampire held to the shadows, one eye to his back, the other on the man.

 

The human.

 

He focused so intently that he memorized the way the hunter moved, could recognize his walk, his run, the swing of his arm and the turn of his head from fifty yards through deep forest in perpetual twilight.

He read the ferocious rage in every kill, the unflagging determination in his search for his angel friend, the keen intelligence in the lines of his face as he sought shelter or food or simply read a trail.

 

Benny had known to expect a human, but this?  This was a _man_.

Something long neglected stirred in his chest.

 

The vampire was done being patient.

 

* * *

 

He stood across the clearing, high on the adrenaline coursing through his veins, feeling a rush of something akin to bloodlust as he and the hunter circled each other warily.

“What, no thanks for savin’ your hide?”  Being this close to the man had Benny nearly drunk with anticipation.  _Will he be everything I thought he'd be?_

Dean brandished a crude-looking obsidian knife, blade nearly as long as his forearm, curving to a wicked tip.  “Sure.  I won’t shove this up your ass.”

 _Aggressive.  Wary.  Confident._   An electric thrill shot down Benny’s spine.  “Ung. Awful strange way of punchin’ a meal ticket, friend.”  The tilt of the hunter’s head, the intensity in the grass-green eyes, the coiled grace in his movements: none of it escaped the vampire’s attention.  A cold burn smoldered deep in his gut.  “I got somethin’ you _need_."

“Yeah?  What’s that?”  

The low rasp of the man’s voice was like the sharp scrape of manicured nails over bare flesh, and the coal in Benny's groin pulsed in reaction.

“A way out.”

The hunter's honest chuckle and a smile that was not meant to be seductive changed everything, opening a door to a world that Benny had not witnessed from his sniper’s vantage point.

The ember sparked into a full flame, and Benny swallowed back the saliva that flooded his mouth.

He wanted this man.  Wanted him badly.

“Even a dental apocalypse like you knows there’s no such thing.” Dean’s intelligence shown in his easy wit.  

Benny resisted the urge to run his tongue over his fangs.  “There is if you’re human.” The two predators circled one another in the erotica of their deadly dance.  “‘God has made it so’. At least, that’s the rumor.”

“Bull.”

“Suit yourself.  Maybe you don’t need it.  Maybe you _like_ being man-meat for every Tom, Dick...and Harry.”  He felt the smile soften his words, lust pounding in his ears, waiting to see how the hunter would respond to the double entendre.

He watched the emotions flicker across the hunter’s face, finally settling.  “Prove it,” came the low growl, and Benny smiled.

“Nah.  Hm. You’re either in, or you’re out.”  

“So you just wanna guide me out of Purgatory out of the goodness of your undead heart," Dean sneered, eyes nearly rolling.

The man’s cautious nature was part of his appeal.  “More or less,” Benny drawled, and his mind conjured an image of ‘more’ that left him needing to adjust himself in his trousers, a discomfort that he chose to savor.  

Green eyes pierced him.  “What’s in it for you?”

“I’m hoppin’ a ride,” and Benny’s voice had dropped to a seductive purr, imaging himself getting more than one kind of ride from this particular hunter.

“What?”  Irritation and distrust colored that single word, conveying so much more.

“It’s a _human_ portal, jackass.  Only humans can pass through.” He let the fire in his groin burn, feeding it with his words, with the sound of the human’s voice, with the intoxicating aroma of his hot, sweet blood, so close under tender skin.  “I show you the door, you hump my soul to the other side.”

The man’s voice was sardonic.  “So you’re lookin’ for a soul train.”  

“Sure,” and Benny smiled, visualizing them naked on their hands and knees, connected end-to-end like railroad cars, “if that’s what you’re into.”  

“And how do I know this isn’t a set-up?  How do I know I ain’t gonna end up like your friend over here?”  He flicked the tip of the blade toward one of the decapitated corpses.

Benny’s smile was almost coy.  “He _was_ my friend. Now you are.”   _Filled with pounding heat after decades of undead chill._  He nearly gave himself away with a low groan at the thought.  “First rule of Purgatory, kid: you can’t trust nobody.”

“You just asked me to trust you!”  The alpha male reared its head, and Benny shivered in some deep, primal place.

“Ya see! You’re gettin’ it now!”

“Hm.” The hunter raised his crude blade, pointing the monstrosity at the vampire as he stalked with deliberation across the clearing, each stride emphasizing a word.  “First, we find the angel.”

“Mmmm.  Three’s a crowd, Chief.”  He knew this one would be hard enough to crack without the physical embodiment of the man’s Puritanical conscience looming over them.  

“Well, hey: either you’re in.  Or you're out.” The way the hunter threw Benny’s own words at him brooked no argument.

 

Benny let a smile spread across his face. _Oh, I’m in, Chief.  I am definitely in._

 

* * *

 

Dean gripped a tree branch in one white-knuckled fist, face pale in the colorless twilight, breath coming in controlled pants.

Benny knelt, easing denim down over long, hard-muscled thighs.

He’d argued with the stubborn hunter for hours to get here, but in the end, discomfort and blood loss had won out over modesty, and Dean had given his companion permission to attend to his wound.

The thick smell of the man’s blood was an aphrodisiac to the vampire, who had subsisted for far too long on the life fluid of monsters.  His hands trembled as he worked the denim down to the hunter’s knees.

“If this is too much --” Dean began, but Benny cut him off, pressing a cloth against the thickest hemorrhage, earning a startled hiss of pain before the hunter brought himself back under control.

“I need to take these down, too, Chief,” Benny explained, tugging lightly at the boxer briefs his friend wore.

The burning touch on raw flesh had pulled Dean’s mind away, focus entirely on beating the agony down, on controlling his breathing, on not allowing his misery to show.  Not putting his vulnerability on display. “Do what you gotta do. Just hurry it up, will ya? We could get jumped at any time out here.”

Benny’s too-keen senses had already swept the area, and he knew that they were safe, undetected in their protected copse, at least for the moment.

Slowly, reverently, he drew tattered black cotton down blood-stained thighs, nails scraping lightly over the skin of the hunter’s flesh as they passed.

Dean’s brain latched onto the sensation, searching for and amplifying any pleasurable signal it could focus on that would distract from the deafening claxon call of ‘pain’.

 

Benny’s eyes followed cloth until it met the rough brake of denim.

 

With his hands still near the hunter’s knees, he raised his eyes slowly.

 

Blood had soaked into the man’s clothing, spreading out across his groin and down the inside of his thigh.  It glistened in the course hair over his pubis, colored pale skin with a sweet syrup that raised a nearly overwhelming pressure inside the vampire.  He watched, mesmerized, as a droplet formed on the tip of the man’s thick, flaccid penis, gathering weight there, quavering in the firelight, suspended through each deep thrust of the hunter’s pulse until it fell, dragging the vampire’s resolve with it.

He drew in a shaking breath.  His hands moved to retrieve a bowl of astringent derived from boiled tree bark and an improvised cloth made of more of the same.  

He couldn’t look the man in the eye as he raised the poultice to mangled flesh, afraid of what his astute friend would read there.  “This is gonna sting a mite, Chief.”

Dean’s knees buckled as the medicinal burn of the compress met the flayed skin at the crease of his thigh, and only his grip on the tree branch and the hard press of his fingertips into the willing strength of the vampire's shoulder kept him upright.

Benny looked up, eyes hooded with redirected bloodlust, to find the hunter’s lids squeezed tightly shut, jaw clenched, muscles straining.

 

_Almost as if...._

 

The image of this man hovering on the brink of orgasm hit him hard, and it was all Benny could do not to moan.

It was instinct that brought his tongue out, broad and flat, to lap the sweet liquid from the hunter’s thigh, laving the skin there until it was clean.

He felt the man's body tense, heard his heart rate quicken, a seductive pulse in Benny’s ear.  Felt the rising line of heat nearly touching his cheek as the hunter’s body responded to the vampire’s erotic ministrations.

Benny looked up through a forest of lashes, drinking in the man’s expression as his tongue roamed higher to bury itself in the abrasive caress of thick, curling hair.

Dean’s eyes were closed, chin heavy against the rise and fall of his chest, brow furrowed in way that could indicate either pleasure or pain.

Lips and tongue removed every trace of crimson from the hunter’s pubis before the vampire’s head dipped lower, tongue stretched to capture the shimmering drop of blood augmented with semen that was currently suspended from the tip of the hunter’s swollen phallus.

Dean watched through hooded eyes, and the hand on Benny’s shoulder trembled.

The vampire held the hunter’s gaze, pulling his lips back, fangs revealed, just as he touched his tongue to the underside of Dean’s cock.

The hand that had been on Benny’s shoulder jumped to his head, fingers burying themselves in the vampire’s hair, ready to pull him away or press him in, whichever need proved more urgent.

Benny opened his mouth wide, allowing only the tip of his tongue access to his hunter’s flesh as his mouth encircled the man’s shaft, leaning forward with deliberate lassitude until pubic hair abraded his lips and tense abdominal muscles compressed his nostrils.

Dean shuddered, his gasped “Benny” equal parts fear and need.

The vampire flattened his tongue against the underside of his hunter’s shaft, hair tickling the tip, heady ambrosia of fresh, hot blood flooding his senses.  He pulled back slowly, fangs barely touching, creating an erotic tingle that forced the man’s head back and set his thighs quivering. His fingers tightened, neither drawing the vampire in nor forcing  him away, in a grip designed to hold his own place in this reality, to ground him against the exquisite sensation that threatened to unhinge him.

Reaching the head of his hunter’s thick phallus, the vampire closed his lips, circling his tongue around the blood-engorged flesh, swiping it clean. He delved into the slit, seeking out the intoxicating copper bitterness of mingled fluids, drawing a gasp and involuntary jerk of the hips from his friend.  

He kept his mouth wet, sliding back down Dean’s shaft, enjoying the hardness and the heat until he felt the cushion of the man’s glans against the back of his throat.  Only then did he swallow, carrying his friend's cock down, squeezing his own rock-hard erection through the thin material of his pants as the hunter’s low cry of shocked pleasure cut through him, making the vampire shiver with a ferocious need.

Once again he pulled his lips back, baring his fangs, and Dean’s eyes opened to slits, glassy and lust-blown, staring in fascination as the slow withdrawal left narrow rivulets of blood in its wake.

Benny knew this sensation.  Knew from experience that what should have been painful would instead, with this degree of lust already built, produce an electric stream of convulsive ecstasy that would bring his friend release in a handful of unhurried passes.

That’s what Benny wanted.  What he _needed_. What he’d been imagining since the first time he saw the man jogging after a monster, shoulders square and tall, improbably confident in the face of so much danger.  He wanted that unconscious authority directed at him. Longed to have hard fingers grip his skull, have that symbol of masculine superiority forced down his throat, taste the man’s power and lust even as the hunter came apart in his hands, giving himself over to his pleasure, deliberately baring his weakness to the kneeling vampire this one time.

Hot blood mingled with cold saliva as Benny moved with practiced skill over his hunter’s flesh, coaxing long-neglected nerve endings into a frenzied cacophony that demanded release.

 

And Dean was close.

 

Benny smelled it in the thunder of blood and beaded sweat and silent desperation.  Tasted it in the flow of precum and seeping lacerations.  Felt it in the tense planes of the hunter's abdomen each time his mouth descended all the way to the man’s root.  

Sensed it in the trembling thigh beneath the compress held there by one forgotten hand.

Benny raised the other, nails lengthening into claws that scraped just right over the ridged flesh of scrotum drawn up tight on the verge of orgasm, and it happened:  Dean released the tree branch, both hands now fisted tightly against the vampire’s scalp, holding that mouth in place while he rocked into it, torso curling, face twisted in an expression of either unbearable agony or exquisite bliss, fucking into Benny’s throat as if to slaughter the monster with the punishing length of his fully engorged erection.

For Benny that moment was nothing but Dean: the velvet-over-steel of his cock in Benny’s mouth and down his throat.  The scent of warm skin and fevered blood and forced tears and brutal sex. The bone-deep contractions of a body emptying itself of seed, of pain, of rage, of despair.  The grating shout of euphoria forced past vocal folds locked in their own convulsive bliss.

And when a nervous system consumed with overwhelming pleasure dropped the hunter to his knees, Benny followed him down, ass in the air, face near the ground, swallowing his reward as the cold burn of his own ejaculate filled his trousers.

 

Dean collapsed onto the vampire’s bowed back.

 

Benny held still, savoring the taste of the man in his mouth, the vibrations of a body coming down off of a mind-blowing orgasm.

He stayed that way, fighting the urge to swallow for as long as he could, knowing that right now his hunter's beautiful organ would be too sensitive for the stroke of Benny’s throat and tongue to produce anything besides pain.

 

He waited until the shudders turned to sobs, then slowed to silent tears and dysrhythmic breaths.

 

Waited until the crisis of orgasm passed and blood moved on, softening the delicious flesh still filling his mouth.

 

Waited until the hunter raised himself up, pushing back on his heels to palm his face dry.

 

Benny knew enough to keep his eyes everted, closing his lips around his hunter one more time, drawing a final shuddering sigh from the man as he withdrew, swallowing the product of their lust, hiding it from the view of his morally burdened friend.

He raked his forearm over the lower half of his face, drying it, then gently peeled the corner of the compress away.  He cleared his throat, enjoying the sapidity of mixed blood and cum and saliva one last time. “Looks like the bleeding’s stopped, Chief.”

“Yeah.”  Dean’s voice was ground glass layered over gravel.  “F--feels better.”

Benny hid his smile as he replaced the astringent pad with a soft cloth, tying it into place.  “I know we heal faster down here, hoss, but you best try to keep anything from rubbin’ on that for a day or two.”  He turned away, allowing the hunter some semblance of privacy as the man redressed himself.

Knowing his hunter well, the vampire crossed to the fire, ladelling stew into a battered mug, stirring and blowing on it, taking more time than needed.  When the faint rustling had given way to slow, still uncertain breaths, he turned.

Dean was sitting, ankles drawn in close and crossed, knees wide and relaxed, staring down at his hands.

Soft, blood-soiled cotton once again provided modesty, though his long limbs remained bare.

Benny squatted down beside him, food proffered as a customary token of repentance and veneration.  

“Thanks, Benny.”  His voice was rough with self-recrimination as he accepted the offering.

 But when Benny reached up to gently card his fingers through the man’s hair, Dean did not flinch away.  “My pleasure, Chief. Truly: it was my pleasure.”

 


	2. Born On The Bayou

* * *

 

“Lemme help you with that, hoss.”  

Dean moved away, mug of boiled tree bark in one white-knuckled fist.  “I got it.”

“It ain’t the easiest wound to see, and we don’t want it gettin’ infected.”  Benny took a step toward the hunter.

Dean paced an equal distance back.  “I said I’ve got this! Keep your fucking hands off of me!”

Benny eased back, letting his demeanor go soft.  “Relax, Chief. I ain’t doin’ anything you don’t want me to do.”

Dean turned, angling his body away but still keeping the vampire in his sights.  “You already did.” His rasping voice was just above a whisper.

“‘Scuse me?”

Dean moved away, hunted eyes searching for shelter, some place quiet and safe to tend to his wounds.

Benny followed, staying out of arm’s reach.  “You talkin’ about las’ night? ‘Cause I didn’t hear you sayin’ ‘no’, hoss.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t hear me saying ‘yes’, either.”  His low growl was a clear warning. “Now back off.”

The vampire stopped, watching the hunter’s limping gait as the man sought an escape.   “This is a cold, mean place, Dean, and there ain’t nowhere to go from here. Why shouldn’t we take a little comfort where we can find it?”

“I’m not your comfort!”  He nearly spat the words.

Benny shook his head.  “No, Chief: you’re not.”  He shrugged. “I was actu’lly tryin’ to be _yours_.”

Dean sneered.  “Like I haven’t heard _that_ line before.”

Benny tilted his head, brow furrowed, inviting elaboration.

“Don’t you have anything to do?”  They both knew the hunter’s snarl was not a question.

“Sure, boss, sure.”  Benny turned away, busying himself with the organization of their scant supplies, and left his hunter to lick  his wounds.

 

A few hours later the man had kicked out the fire, gathered up his belongings, and started walking, leaving Benny to decide for himself whether or not he wanted to follow.

 

He did.

 

* * *

  
“Lemme help you with that, hoss.”

 

Three days and ten times as many skirmishes had passed, the latest earning the hunter a new injury, this time on his right arm.

 

“I got it,” came the expected reply, and Benny looked on in amused silence as Dean fumbled ineffectually with a bandage.

“Son of a bitch,” he finally muttered, allowing his left hand to fall into his lap while his head settled against the tree that protected his back.  He closed his eyes, and Benny could almost read the man’s thought processes.

Benny waited.

Eventually the hunter sighed, speaking from behind the privacy of shuttered lids.  “If I let you bandage it, are you going to…”

“I won’t do anythin’ you don’t want me to, Dean.”  He lowered himself slowly to his knees beside the seated hunter, moving as if the man were a rare bird that could easily startle into flight.

“That’s what you said about the last time.”  Dean’s voice was accusing.

Benny collect the rudimentary medical supplies from his friend’s lap, arranging them beside him before reaching with studied torpor for the man’s arm.  

When both of the vampire’s hands were wrapped around body-warmed flannel, Dean spoke again.  “Is it the blood?” He had turned his head, large emerald eyes absorbing the image of a monster’s thumbs framing the jagged rent in his flesh.

“Partly,” Benny admitted.  “Blood lust or bed lust. Not much difference.”

He could taste the tension in his hunter.

“What’s the other part?”

“You wanna take this off, or should I just rip it?”  He tugged at the torn flannel.

Their eyes met.  Benny allowed the hunter to search his face.

“Hmph.”  The fingers of Dean’s left hand worked adroitly on his buttons.  “‘S the only long-sleeved shirt I got.” He shrugged out of it, expression guarded, reading the vampire’s reactions.

 _One thin layer over all that perfect skin_ , but Benny had been practicing his self-control for more years than his human friend had been alive.  Despite the matching aches in his chest and groin, his face remained passive.

Dean rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt, bringing a wicked-looking laceration into full view as it ran from the crest of his deltoid, across his bicep, curling around to the tricep, ending where the spike of the creature’s tail had ricocheted off of the point of the man’s elbow.

He looked away, tendons in his neck straining, as Benny dabbed gently at the wound.  “This one could stand a few stitches, boss.”

Dean sighed.  “Of course it could.”

Benny turned to their rudimentary first aid kit, extracting the curved sliver of bone that Dean had fashioned -- cleverly, the vampire thought -- into a needle, along with the long, thin strands of Hell Wolf mane that he himself -- also cleverly, Benny believed -- had soaked in astringent for use as sutures.

He placed both in a fresh mug of boiled tree bark before raising a second portion.  “I gotta clean it out first.”

“Yeah,” Dean grunted.  He held his arm out in offering, hoping to keep the majority of the mess off of his jeans.

Benny supported the man’s elbow with one palm, glancing up at his friend. _This is gonna hurt,_ and if he’d had a pulse in his undead chest, it would have quickened at the thought.

He found the man’s eyes on him.   _Fucker sees everything._  “I don’t suppose you need me to tell ya that this is gonna sting a mite.”

Irritation and impatience flickered through deep green, then were gone.  “That’s how you know it’s workin’, right?”

Benny chuckled.  “You say so, hoss.”  He poured slowly, rotating the man’s arm as he went, flushing the entire length of the wound.

Most would have looked away, but not Dean.  Benny was certain that he gave off more tension schooling his rising lust to a concealable level than the hunter did while schooling himself against any expression of discomfort.

Except that when Benny patted the wound dry and turned to retrieve the suture kit, Dean stopped him.  “Just gimme a sec.” He leaned his head back against the solid comfort of the tree, eyes closed, inhaling long and deep through both flared nostrils, exhaling slow and quiet through pursed lips.

Benny sat back on his heels, studying the man.  Appreciated the broad expanse of shoulders, the curve of each firm pectoral muscle pressing against thin cotton, the long lines of his thighs in worn denim.

He looked away just as Dean opened his eyes.  “Alright. Let’s do this.”

_Blood and strength and taut skin over sculpted flesh._

Benny shuttered his gaze, battling a wave of lust so strong that he felt his fangs appear.

He opened his eyes to find Dean watching him.  “You sure this isn’t too much, Benny? Because I can --”

“I’m fine, Chief.” He shifted closer to his friend-turned-patient, flashing a mischievous grin.  “Would you b’lieve me if I said I get the vapors at the sight of blood?”

Dean chuckled.  “Sure. About like I do at the sight of a double bacon cheeseburger.”

Benny’s smile was a glimmer of fangs, there and gone almost too quickly to register, but he knew the hunter had seen.  “You just let me know if you need a break at all, hoss.”

Dean rested his skull against the tree once more, closing his eyes against the sight of the crude needle piercing his flesh.  “You never answered me.” His voice stayed even as the bone went in, biting a second time before emerging on the other side, coarse hair dragging along behind it.  

Benny furrowed his brows.  “I’m sorry, Chief? What was the question?”

They had become accustomed to closing wounds in one long, continuous line rather than tying off each individual bite, saving both time and materials.

The needle stabbed.  Suture pulled.

“You said it was 'part' blood lust.  What’s the other part?”

Benny turned that over in his mind, feeling the import of the simple inquiry.  “You name it, hoss: This place. All the fightin’ and nearly dyin’...just does somethin’ to me sometimes.”  He waited, watching his hands work all on their own, and wondered if the hunter would admit to it.

Whether in denial or simply because he was too focused on controlling his pain, Dean remained mute.

“You know what I mean,” Benny prodded gently.  “I know you do. When a fight is intense and maybe you got hurt or maybe you didn’t, but the blood and the sweat and the fear and the rage, it all just builds, and then it’s done, and you’re alive, and…”  He inhaled deeply through his nose, and it was there: faint, but discernible. “I know you feel it, too. I can smell it on you.”

Without looking, the vampire knew that his hunter had tensed.  Could hear it in his held breath, feel it in the cording of the muscles beneath his fingers.

“What happens in Purgatory stays in Purgatory, Dean.”  Finished tying off the suture, he drew a knife from his belt, cutting the excess away.

He dabbed at the laceration gently, cleaning it one more time.

The fine tremor in the man’s arm did not go unnoticed.

The hunter’s head was turned away, a muscle on the hinge of  his jaw standing out sharply as he clenched his teeth.

The vampire pulled his gaze away from the vulnerable expanse of bared skin and the pulse he saw beating there in the man’s neck.

He wound a length of clean cloth around Dean’s upper arm, thrilling himself with the brush of his knuckles over the barely concealed warmth of the hunter’s chest.

“All done, hoss.  You go ahead and get some rest.  I’ll keep the monsters away.”

“Thanks.”  

 

Dean kept his face averted.

 

It was a long time before he closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

A  handful of days.

A war’s worth of battles.

 

This time it was the vampire who was in need of assistance.

He sat beside the fire, shirtless, torso folded over his knees while Dean scrubbed mercilessly at four parallel lacerations down the vampire’s back.

“Unngghh!”  Benny’s sharp grunt hissed through bared fangs.  “Take it easy!”

“Can’t.”  Dean’s brow was furrowed in concentration.  “Don’t know what that thing was, but it had somethin’ nasty on those claws.”  He dipped a piece of boiled bark into the bowl, using it to swab out the deepest cut.

In a motion too rapid to follow with human eyes, Benny twisted, catching Dean’s wrists in his talon-tipped fingers, surging up as he turned.  It ended with the vampire astride the surprised hunter, weight on the man’s pelvis, wrists viced to his chest.

 

A strand of thick saliva dripped in a long line from the vampire’s fangs, hovering in the tide of the man’s careful breath.

 

Benny felt the surge of the hunter’s adrenaline-fueled pulse, inhaled the metallic aroma of his fear.

Bloodlust exploded in the vampire’s veins, blinding him.

He raised one of the man’s wrists.

Fangs kissed whisper-thin skin.

His tongue found the crimson beads he had called forth.

Terror, shame, anticipation, lust, and a strong dose of self-hatred flavored the hunter’s lifeblood.

 

Benny tipped his head back, drunk with the unique savor.

 

Dean used his heel to trap the vampire’s leg, jerking both arms away from that limb as he bucked up hard, throwing the vampire off balance before tearing his wrists free and scrambling backwards, eyes round and frantic.

“A-Alastair.   _Don’t_.”

The raw horror in those words cut through the red fog over Benny’s mind.  The image of his friend imprinted itself there --

 

\-- Haunted eyes alternately widening and tightening as Dean witnessed a scene that only he could see --

\-- Back against a tree, heels dug into the dirt, willing his body to continue its retreat --

\-- Breath for once choppy and uncontrolled in the panicked man’s chest --

 

The vampire’s fangs retracted.

He eased back, moving with infinite care to put the fire between himself and whatever hallucination had so thoroughly captured his friend’s attention.

Stolen his courage.

Left _Dean_ , a man who was never still, paralyzed with fear.

 

Dean gasped, a drowning victim coming up for air, inhalation heavy and hot, strangling him where he cowered.  

 

His eyes cleared.  “Benny.” It was both a question and an affirmation.

“You a’right, there, chief?” The torpid drawl conveyed a studied indifference.

“I --”  he pushed himself into a sitting position, scanning his immediate vicinity warily.  “Yeah.” He raked a hand through his sweat-spiked hair before running it in a hard press down his torso.  Then he glanced at his palm, almost as if he expected to find it bloody. “How ‘bout….how ‘bout you? You okay?”  He seemed to gain confidence as he spoke. “How’s your back?”

Benny rocked his shoulders a little, pressing the blades together, testing.  He winced. “Bit better, I reckon.”

Dean regained his feet, casting his eyes around warily at the twilit woods before approaching the vampire at a measured pace.  “Lemme just….” His voice trailed off as Benny turned.

Though still raw, the lacerations had lost their angry look.  

The vampire allowed just the tips of his fangs to descend as he explained, “Human blood heals me.”

Dean glanced at his wrist, reaching to swipe away the damp heat there, redirecting his motion  at the last moment.

He held it out to Benny.  “Here.” His voice was hoarse.  Broken. “You need more.”

“‘S a’right, Dean.  I’m good enough.”

The hunter took another step forward.  “No, you’re not.” He gestured with his ensanguined wrist.  “Take it, man. It’s not like I don’t owe you.”

The salty-sweet-iron scent of fresh human life filled his nostrils, and the vampire’s mouth watered.

Another long-limbed stride, and Dean was beside him, palm cupping the back of the vampire's head, wrist hovering in tempting proximity to Benny’s lips.  “Go ahead,” the hunter rumbled. “I trust you.”

The vampire's fingers closed around the man’s forearm, and he ordered himself to stay in control as his mouth returned to clean the crimson stain from the hunter’s delicate skin.  Bloodlust brought him to his knees and Dean followed, forcing himself onto the vampire’s tongue and down his throat.

Benny shuddered as he twisted his lips away from his friend’s arm.

The chill of his ejaculate ran down one thigh.

He collapsed onto his palms, breathing hard.

Felt the gentle glide of living fingertips over the unmarred skin of his back.

“Damn.  Didn’t even leave a scar.”  Dean moved away. “I’m gonna make dinner. You want any?”

 

* * *

 

On another night they crouched behind the corpse of some gargantuan creature, spines pressed against a rock cliff, waiting to see if the eyeless monstrosity that had come snuffling out of the cave the pair had thought to seek refuge in could be fooled into thinking that nothing living remained in the vicinity.

When it proved necessary, removing the monster’s head was far easier than either of them had expected.

Later they sat back-to-back in the thing’s liar, not quite easy enough for sleep, but valuing the rest nonetheless.

“Who’s Alastair?”

Benny sensed the utter stillness that enveloped the man behind him.

Silence stretched, shimmering in the uncertain darkness.

“A demon.”  

The hunter’s deep voice vibrated through Benny’s torso.

“You meet a lot of those topside?”  

This silence pulsed, an ominous pressure in the eardrums threatening annihilation if left unbroken.

“Not topside: Hell.”

 

Benny waited through a lifetime of controlled breaths.

 

“My brother died.  Traded my soul to get him back.”  He paused, as if weighing his words.  “Alastair was...assigned to me. My own, personal torturer.”  The man's stillness was gone, a soul-deep vibration taking its place.  “Castiel pulled me out.”

“I see.”  And he did.   _That torture included rape.  Had to._ He was quiet, choosing his words carefully.  “Lust is like hunger or thirst, hoss. Somethin’ your body needs, whether you like it or not.”

Dean did not respond, but Benny could feel the tension where their bodies touched.

“I know what I’m offerin’ isn’t anything you want right now, Dean, but you ain’t gonna find no soft, sweet-smellin’ young miss down here.”

Dean’s back straightened, breath held in mid-exhale.

“All I’m sayin’ is, when that hunger gets to be too much to bear, you just take what you need from me.  Alright, Chief? I won’t do anything you don’t ask me to, and I ain’t lookin’ to write a love song. It’s a biological need, plain and simple.  No sense in makin’ it out to be somethin’ more.”

“This ain’t helpin’ me find Cas.”  Dean pushed himself to his feet, moving with an uncharacteristic lack of grace as he stumbled out into the oppressive dampness of the Purgatory air.

 

Benny followed.

 

Another day gone.

 

* * *

  
  
“There were monsters there.”

 

They had been trekking along in silence for so many hours that Benny had forgotten what they’d been talking about last.

“You havin’ conversations without me again, Hoss?”

“In Hell.  There were monsters.”  As usual on a narrow trail, Dean had taken the lead.  Benny watched the stretch and pull of fabric as the man shrugged.  “I mean...I think they were monsters. Demons can look like anything down there.”  He paused. “Make you see whatever they want you to see.”

Benny stayed quiet, turning the thing over in his mind, trying to look ahead to where this conversation was leading.

Dean was a complicated man.

“You sayin’ that maybe Purgatory ain’t all there is for me, Dean?”

 

The hunter’s silence was its own answer.

 

“You think I could maybe get to _Hell_ , which, by natural extension, means there’s a chance I could end up in _Heaven_ , too.  Is that what you think, Chief?”

The man’s steps had slowed.  He didn’t look back at the vampire when he answered, “That’s what the church people say, isn’t it?   That you go to Purgatory to atone for your sins, and you either go up or down from there.”

Benny chuckled.  “Well, I ain’t never been what you might call ‘church people’, but I do believe that’s what they say.  Yes.”

“And you have a soul.  That’s what I’m carrying out of here, right?  Your soul?” Dean had stopped walking, and the weight of his gaze pressed on the vampire’s bones with its solemnity.

Benny could only nod.

“So, this could be a test, then.  A final one. Do good, you get to be  human again -- an _immortal_ human. Do bad?  BAM! One way ride down a broken elevator shaft into your worst fucking nightmare.”

Benny stared at him, dumbstruck.  “You really believe that?”

Dean shrugged one shoulder, eyes shifting, uneasiness replacing quiet earnest.

In the space of a heartbeat the vampire closed the distance between them, one steadying hand on the startled hunter’s tricep, cool breath fanning the man’s cheek.  “Are you tryin’ to tell me,” and that lazy, backwater drawl was at its most seductive, “that you won’t fuck me because you don’t wanna ruin my chances of gettin' into Heaven?”

 

Dean stumbled back, jerking his arm away.  “No! I didn’t --” He turned away, body tight and angular.  “We’re losing daylight.”

 

* * *

 

They’d gone days with no more passing between them than a shouted, “Look out!” or “On your six!” when Benny lead his friend into the middle of an outcropping.

Steam rose from the clear pool of a shallow basin carved in smooth, orange stone. 

Dean stared like a child stumbling across Santa at a laundromat.

Benny rested his haunches on a nearby rock, fingers catching the opposite wrist as his arms relaxed into his lap.  “I know the filth bothers you. Get cleaned up; I’ll take first watch.”

The hunter scanned the area warily, not trusting something so good in that god-forsaken world.  “Is it safe?”

“Has been every other time I been here.”  Benny shrugged. “”Course, this _is_ Purgatory, so that don’t mean much.  But I’ll keep an eye out.”

Even so, Dean had to scout the area, pace the perimeter of the bowl and poke the bottom of it with a long stick before he felt comfortable enough to test the water.

Boots, jacket, belt, pistol, and dagger all rested close to the edge.

Dean stepped in, obsidian blade held high, and walked out to the center of the pool where nipple-deep water eddied around him.  “Aw, _hell_ , yeah!” His smile was so wide, so filled with uncomplicated joy, that it made the vampire’s groin ache.

He waded back to the edge to deposit his weapon and strip off his clothes.  Then he sat, submerged to his waist, and scrubbed the garments against the rocks until they were somewhat clean.  When he was satisfied, he gathered them in his arms, striding out into the tepid air to first wring out, then spread each piece, giving them a chance to dry.

He turned back to the pool, long lines of his body glistening, and submerged himself.  He came up sputtering, hands rubbing at his face, his hair, his body, working himself clean.

Benny was careful to keep his eyes moving and his senses tuned outward, willing to sacrifice his licentious voyeurism to ensure both their safety.

 

Which is not to say that he was unable to capture and store images of long, lean muscle moving under temptingly smooth flesh, of the sharp jut of hip bones or the contrasting curve of a well-developed ass.

 

Benny made no effort to will his erection away, content to savor that slow burn while his friend examined a palm-sized stone, then plopped down in the shallows to rub it briskly over every centimeter of skin, starting with his toes.

By the time he stepped out, his body was as red as if he’d been dropped into a vat of boiling oil.  

He strode over to the seated vampire with his limbs loose and easy in their sockets and an uncomplicated smile lighting up his face.  

 

Lust that had dulled down to muted static in the back of Benny's mind rose to the near-deafening level of a live band as Dean came to a stop, just a little bit closer than custom dictated.

 

“Your turn, buddy.”  The grinning man held out his hand, palm up.  “Soapstone. Go ahead: I’ll keep watch.”

The vampire ran the tip of his tongue over his partially erupted fangs.  “Might wanna get dressed first, _Hoss_.” He flicked an appreciative glance at his partner’s groin before dragging his gaze up the length of the man’s torso to settle on his face.  

“You want me to?”  Dean’s voice had dropped, jagged around the edges, and as close as they were Benny didn’t need his augmented senses to detect the hunter’s arousal.

 

To smell it.

 

And then Dean stepped back, turned away, hand shielding his growing erection as color flooded his face.  “My stuff should be dry by now.”

His cat-like grace was replaced with the mechanical grind of self-consciousness as he moved away, working himself stiffly into still-damp clothing.

 

The vampire stirred with the lazy heat of New Orleans in his genes, first stretching where he sat, then bending to unlace his boots, removing one, setting it to the side before sliding out of the other.  Next came his socks, and he hummed in pleasure as the bare soles of his feet came in contact with warm stone.

He stood, draping the first of his garments over his rocky chair.  He kept his eyes on Dean the entire time he undressed: pulling first one, then the other suspender over each shoulder; unbuttoning his pants and letting them fall to be stepped out of; lazily removing his shirt.

Dean had kept his back to his friend while he re-dressed himself, oblivious to the show that the vampire was staging.  Benny waited until the man turned before hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers.  He kept his eyes on the hunter’s face as he slid the material down, pulling the elastic away from his body to free his unabashedly engorged erection.

Dean spun away abruptly, nearly tripping over the rocks at his feet.

Benny chuckled, a low, seductive sound that carried well in the stillness of their temporary sanctuary.  He palmed his aching testicles, then squeezed the base of his cock, easing the tension.

 

“Some things are worth risking Hell for, Dean.”

 

The hunter paced the perimeter restlessly, keeping his back turned to the bathing vampire until he was certain that the other was fully clothed once more.

 

* * *

 

“You know it’s a set up.”  

They’d been living the Purgatory life: fighting whatever came at them, torturing any survivors for information that might lead them to Castiel.

Surviving.

The werewolf currently pissing itself in fear at the edge of Dean’s silver blade had promised to lead them to the last place he had seen the angel, if only the hunter and the vampire would spare his life.

“He caved too easy,” Dean continued, voice thick with the barbed remnants of battle-rage.  “He’ll lead us to _something_ , all right, but not what he promised.”

Benny splayed his hands, moving slow and easy around the coiled viper that was his partner in this moment.  “Your call, Boss.”

Dean’s eyes flicked to him, then back to the monster quivering in his grasp.  “Could be both,” he muttered, thinking it through. “Could’ve set up an ambush at the last place Cas had been seen, knowing I’d show up eventually.”  He released the young wolf to land on its back, cowering. “Show us.”

 

* * *

 

 Slick blood and rendered flesh, the dull sound of striking fists and the sharp crack of fracturing bone.  The werewolves came out of nowhere and everywhere, relentless in their frenzy, circling and snapping at the two hunters who instinctively remained back-to-back, holding the center of the small clearing they’d been led to.  

Benny was lost in it, bloodlust stripping him of his last vestiges of humanity until he was nothing but fangs and talons and two bright blades, his snarls of fury and challenge and triumph indistinguishable from those of the werewolves around him.

 

Or from the hunter’s.

 

Until he sensed that the fight was over, that the wolf writhing on the dagger that had been driven through its chest was the last one, and the blood pumping over the vampire’s fist was hot and salted with rage and fear, and it wasn’t human blood, but it was close, and his mouth covered the wound as he sank to the ground over the dying beast, hunger and lust and the ferocious joy of being alive pulsing through him --

 

And Dean was there, boots framing the dead werewolf’s skull.

 

Benny looked up, eyes clouded with feral heat, struggling to come down off of his blood-fueled high, reminding himself that the human before him was off limits, his ticket out of this hell, that he could sate neither his hunger nor his rabid lust on this man, no matter how badly he wanted to.

He sat back on his heels, raising a shaking forearm to clear the blood from his chin.

 

“Don’t.”  

 

The hunter’s fingers twisted painfully in the vampire’s hair, jerking his head back.  

He rested the obsidian blade at the juncture between the vampire’s shoulder and his neck.

There was a command in his eyes.

Benny closed his, inhaling deeply, tasting the hunter’s scent: Rage. Victory.

 

Arousal.

 

The last was the strongest, and growing stronger.

Dean pushed his hips forward, stretched denim scraping like sandpaper as he dragged it across the vampire’s chin.

 

“Take me out.”

 

Months of repressed desire exploded from their confines, filling the vampire with a suffocating pressure.

His hands shook as he raised them to his master’s bidding, belt and buttons succumbing to the reverent motions of his fingers until he was able to slide one palm in between heated satin and warm cotton, groaning as the hunter pulsed against him, breath a sharp rasp in Benny’s ear.

He bared his friend to the twilit air, not needing a command to cover the man’s hardness with his blood-stained lips, claws digging into the hunter’s hips as the vampire pulled him into his throat, choking on the sapidity of his human.

Dean pressed into him, teeth bared, bowed head arching back as he fought the insistent press of an orgasm, not ready for this to be over yet.

The wave of bliss receded just enough for him to gasp out a breath, lowering his head to watch through slitted eyes as he slowly withdrew from the vampire’s mouth.

Benny trembled, feeling the thrum of hot, fresh blood throbbing between his teeth.

Dean pulled back until the tip of his cock rested on the vampire’s lower lip.  

 

“Show me.”

 

The vampire bared his fangs, hearing the man’s breath quicken, feeling the blade press more firmly against the base of his neck.

 

“You bite me, you die.”

 

The words, the relentless grip on his scalp, the threat of the blade against his skin, this ruthless and efficient hunter of monsters coating Benny's tongue with the evidence of his need -- it was almost too much, and the vampire’s core muscles convulsed, leaving him slick and full and _aching_.

He kept his lips retracted, mouth wide as he eased the hunter’s cock down his throat once more.  He paused at the base, gagging on the length and breadth of the man, blinking away involuntary tears.

He watched the hunter's face through the sharpened lens of adrenaline-fueled lust as he carefully brought his fangs to flesh.

And Dean stared back, eyes hooded, upper lip twitching over slightly-bared teeth, shoulders coiled with tension like the cocked hammer on a chambered round, ready to deliver violence.

Benny tightened his jaw, feeling the sharp press of pointed teeth on the edge of puncturing skin.

Dean panted heavily above him, gaze and grip unwavering.

The vampire bit down harder, breaking through, sweet-salty liquid flowing over his tongue, and his eyes closed on a guttural moan.

 

“Fuck, yeah.  Do it, Benny. _Do it._ ”

 

And he did: pulled back with excruciating deliberation, dragging the tips of his fangs through sensitive flesh, feeling the man shudder as vampiric teeth raked over the edge of his glans.

 

“Shit.   _Benny_ \--”

 

And lust overwhelmed him, vampire instincts drowning him, until he dug his fingers into the man’s hips with bruising strength, holding the hunter still while he drove Dean's cock down his throat in brutal thrusts, sucking the blood from him, ravenous and demanding, needing more --

 

Dean dropped the blade to grasp desperately at the vampire’s skull, catching one ear in the tangle of hair as his body convulsed, head back in a primal shout, filling the vampire with the burning salinity of his release.

 

He bowed forward, fingers spreading against Benny's scalp, knees bent and trembling, barely supporting his weight.

He stayed that way through a dozen ragged breaths, shuddering in waves as aftershocks coursed through him.

Without moving from his position, Benny freed himself from his trousers.  Filled with the scent of his hunter, the taste of him flooding his mouth, the sound of the man’s uncontrollable pleasure reverberating in his ears, two hard strokes were all it took for the vampire to buck into his own hand, spilling lust and battle-rage and victory on the ground between his partner’s feet.

 

They hung there, suspended in time as each one softened, mind-altering passions succumbing to a heavy sense of peace.

 

Dean straightened, fingers carding gently through Benny’s hair as he withdrew from the vampire’s mouth.  

He stayed there, blood and saliva-slicked cock nearly resting on Benny’s chin, and used the pads of his thumbs to stroke the tears from his friend’s cheeks.

“Thank you.”  The force of his euphoria had left his voice raw.

 

Benny ran the tip of his tongue across the edge of his upper lip in a slow, seductive glide.  “My pleasure, chief. Truly: it was my pleasure.”  



	3. The Devil's Chasing Me

* * *

 

“What the hell _are_ these things, Ben?”  Panic edged the rage in the hunter’s voice.

“Don’t know, Dean.  Never seen ‘em before in my life.”

“Well, how do we kill them?”

Benny sensed the man’s powerful swing, heard him grunt through the wet slide of the heavy stone blade through flesh.

“Son of a bitch!”  Dean had his back pressed to the vampire’s once more.  “Can’t even see the damned things.”

Benny kept his eyes moving, straining to pick out the gray-fleshed creatures in the sickly light of Purgatory’s sunless sky.

A hint of motion and the stench of rotting flesh was all the warning he got before one of the things latched onto him, its small body and slender limbs disguising a super-human strength.

It sank serrated teeth into the sleeve of his jacket, shaking its head like a rabid dog, and the vampire swung his blade, slicing through the creature lengthwise.

The two halves fell to the ground, split center the red-orange of flowing lava, and both parts writhed and screamed before crumbling to black ash.

And then they erupted from the ground like swarming ants, and battle-lust surged, bringing fangs and claws, movement too fast to follow, filleting the creatures until his blades dulled and he dropped them to grip each foul thing in his fists, wrenching shrieking heads from twisting bodies.

 

The hunter’s wordless desperation reached him and he spun, seeing Dean stretched out, foul little beasts like gargoyles perched on his arms and legs, holding him down, tearing  his clothing, needle teeth digging into his flesh.

 

Benny scooped up a blade and in two long steps was by the man’s side, destroying foul creatures in blinding rage.

He only had to free one of the hunter’s arms before Dean joined the killing frenzy, and Ben hardly registered the sight of his friend gripping a writhing body in one fist, separating its head from its body with his teeth.

 

Then it was over, the two travellers backed into one another, circling as their eyes probed the deceptive gray hues of the shifting forest, alert to the possibility of another threat.

The only other motion was the undulation of the steam rising from the ashed bodies carpeting the area around their feet.

“I think we got ‘em, Hoss.”

“Yeah.”

Something about the hunter’s voice sounded off, and Ben turned, just in time to catch the man as he became abruptly boneless.

 

* * *

 

What followed was the most terrifying experience the vampire had lived through since the brutal decapitation that had landed him on this plane.

 

Dean got sick.

 

When he first collapsed Benny had slung the man over his shoulder as if he weighed little more than one of the evil beasts they had so recently slaughtered, rushing headlong through the dense underbrush, desperate for a sheltered spot to examine his friend and tend to his wounds.

Fear for his limp friend drew his vampiric nature to the surface, and he acted on instinct, seeking out water, wading through hip-deep rapids to reach a tumble of boulders.  Their smooth edges and debris-strewn crevices warned of the potential for this stream to swell into a river, carrying them both away, but with mist to mask their scent and a hollow of stone to shield them, the vampire’s primal mind dismissed the risks posed by nature in favor of avoiding the more immediate threat of monsters.

His strength lasted just long enough for him to clamber over boulders to a depression in the center of the island.  Then his legs gave out, muscles trembling with fatigue, and he lowered the hunter gracelessly to the hard ground.

He rested on his hands and knees, hard breaths releasing adrenaline in peaked waves until the fog over his mind dissipated and he could think clearly again.

He could see where restless water had carved a smooth basin for itself, but now that sink was dry, filled with the detritus of retreating waves.

He cleared it out, scraping sticks and dirt away with long sweeps of his arms, then constructed a smokeless fire in its protected center.

 

Dean moaned, a wordless expression of pain and confusion, and Benny knee-crawled to his side.

 

The man’s undershirt was in tatters, and slivers of pale skin shown through patches of dark viscosity that at first glance had the appearance of blood mixed with tar.

Ben emptied both their pockets, assembling their few belongings in preparation for administering aide to his friend.

The damage was so extensive, it was difficult to know where to begin.

The open jacket and flannel appeared to have been spared most of the destructive force of the gargoyle-like creatures.  He peeled them from his friend, folding one into a cushion that he placed beneath Dean’s head, the other set aside for the time being.

There was little left of the front of the t-shirt, and Benny used one of his knives to slit the sleeves, tugging the scrap from Dean’s body.  He separated the cloth into a whole and useful section from the back and the soiled shreds of the front.

He made several brief forays to the stream, wetting the piece of cloth, filling battered mugs with clear water that were transferred to the smaller sinks and depressions created by the white water that had occupied this space in wetter times.

And he boiled the special bark they had filled their pockets with, hoping that this astringent would be enough.

 

For what felt like hours he worked over his hunter’s unconscious form, scraping at the tarry substance that clung like a living thing, as if to consume the man’s flesh.

And it was everywhere: hair, face, neck.  Across the broad expanse of his chest, down the hollow of his abdomen.  In the places where denim had torn.

The vampire bared the muttering hunter down to his undershorts, and it was a mark of his concern for the man that the act failed to stir even a hint of interest in his groin.

Because, despite the application of ice-water from the stream on skin that had been bared to the cool twilight air, Dean’s body temperature continued to rise.

He moaned and snarled, clenched his fists and jerked his limbs, and Benny could only wonder at the memory-fueled nightmares that played out behind the hunter’s bruised lids.

Thousands of barely visible punctures decorated the exposed flesh, and the vampire did his best to scrub the tacky foulness from them, certain that the creatures had injected his friend with some sort of venom.  He closed his eyes, reaching back decades to search for long-forgotten Creole wisdom, longing for the rich harvest of folk remedies the Bayou could provide.

Dean’s motions became stronger, his utterings no less obscure but louder and more frequent.

“Shit!”

Frustration underlined by fear drove Benny to snatch up his blade and wade back into the forest to collect anything that looked even vaguely familiar.

 

* * *

 

 

Fever-bright eyes challenged him when he returned to their lair.  “Don’t touch me.” The hunter’s growl was nearly inhuman.

“I gotcha, Hoss.  You’re gonna be okay.”  It was a promise the vampire didn’t begin to believe.

Mud and stone-ground herbs mixed with astringent to form a thick, green-black paste.  He approached the hunter, and was met by bloodshot eyes slitted in hatred.

“Alastair. You fuck.”

“It’s me, Chief.  It’s Benny. You got poison in ya’, messin’ with your brain.  Gonna try to get you fixed up, alright, Hoss? You just lie still now.”

At the first touch of cool paste, Dean’s head rocked back, jaw clenched on a tight howl, fingers digging into his stone bed.

His skin crackled and popped, and orange-red vapor silted between fissures in the herbed mud.

With wide eyes Benny hastily wiped his Bayou muck away, expecting to find raw and blistered skin beneath.

 

Instead, the flesh there glowed a healthy, unblemished pink.

 

_It’s working._

“I know it hurts, friend, but it’s helpin’, too.  Fight through it, okay, Chief? Can you do that for me?”

But the hunter had sagged, eyelids falling closed, chest rising and falling on too-rapid breaths.

“Just a little more, Dean.  Gotta get this toxic shit outta you.”  He filled his palms with Creole medicine, applying it to the hunter’s torso in two long strokes.

Dean’s back arched once more, jaw stretched in a soundless scream, smoke dancing like flames across his flesh.

A groan was born somewhere in his chest, growing as it rose until it broke through the contortion of his lips in a snarling keen that crescendoed on a hopeless cry of “ _Please_ , _Dad_.   _Please_ ,” before the body began to convulse, thrashing like a thing possessed, and his vocalizations succumbed to the thick glut of saliva that foamed from his mouth.

“Shit!”  Benny straddled his friend, hands cradling the man’s head, using his own torso to press the hunter’s body firmly against the rock in an effort to prevent him from injuring himself.

Dean's delusional plea of: “Alastair! Stop!” was accompanied by the rake of blunt nails along Benny’s clothes.  “Won’t. _Can’t_.”

The vampire pressed harder, legs stretching out, head nestled tightly against Dean’s to prevent the man from biting him.

 

In less time than Benny had dared hope, the hunter’s movements slowed, his sounds of distress becoming softer, less coherent.

 

“Burns.  Fucking burns.  Al…” a sob truncated the word, and then his fingers were twisted in Benny’s shirt, pulling at him weakly.  “Don’t. Please. Jeff! I don’t want -- “

He turned his head away, face contorting.

Benny could feel the man trembling.

“I’m gonna get off you now, okay, Chief?  You just stay quiet, and I’ll get ya all cleaned up.  I think the worst of it is over.” He did a slow press up, removing his weight a little at a time, reading his friend’s reactions.  As soon as he was able, Dean threw an arm over his face. His other hand groped, nails fraying against stone as he searched blindly for a way to anchor himself to reality.

He shook as if recovering from a bone-deep chill, yet Benny knew that the man’s body was nearly too hot to touch.

“Let’s get this muck off ya, Hoss.”  Back on his knees beside his prone friend, the vampire lifted a damp cloth, touching it to the man’s chest with the intention of cleaning the medicated mud from his skin.

A hiss of rage was all the warning Ben got before a hand snapped down on his wrist and the hunter surged up from his make-shift nest,  flipping the vampire as he twisted his arm behind his back, forcing Benny down to the ground on his face.

“Alastair: you _fuck_.”  

Dean’s teeth grazed Benny’s ear.

The vampire raised his hips to allow strong fingers to tuck beneath him, working the buttons on his trousers.

“You know how long I dreamed of this, asshole?" Dean's snarl shivered along the skin of Benny's neck. "All the things I’d pay you back for if I got a chance….”  He jerked hard on the vampire’s strained arm, bringing the shoulder to near-dislocation.

“Dean…”  but he didn’t necessarily want the man to stop.

He neither fought nor objected when the hunter used one hand to tug his pants down.

And then he was there, where he’d wanted to be for more days and nights than he cared to count: face down, bare-assed, with Dean Winchester at his back.

 

His fangs pricked the inside of his lip.  

 

Dean’s movements were rough, uncoordinated, and the skin on his chest burned Benny through his clothes.  “You move, I’ll kill you.”

His arm was released.  

He shivered when the man’s torso left him.

Had a moment of sharp disappointment when he thought that it was over, that this was all he was going to get.

And then hard palms split his cheeks, and something hot landed wetly on his hole.

He turned his head, straining to see behind him.  Watched the hunter spit into his hand, then close his eyes as he stroked himself.

Then the man shifted, and Benny felt the first press of impending penetration. Fear and lust coiled tightly, _This is gonna be rough_ , flitting through his mind --

 

And the hunter slammed into him with enough force to drive him forward, stone abrading his cheek, and he grunted at the heaving agony, knowing it would fade to pleasure soon enough --

 

And his arm was back behind him, a separate burn glowing in his shoulder, the blistering scald of venom-permeated flesh driving away the chill of  his own bloodless meat, the hunter’s breath -- his words -- tingling down Benny’s spine: “How do you like me now, Alastair?”

Hard knees drove the vampire’s thighs apart; arms solidified into immobile columns as the hunter leaned forward, all of his weight on his palms, crushing Benny’s chest into the rocky ground, and he jack-hammered into the creature below him with a punishing force, skin slapping skin like a hard whipping, and the vampire tilted his pelvis, raising his hips, giving his erection space to unfurl, and the man drew one knee up, deepening his angle as if he could drive right through the vampire, could tear him apart from the inside, leave him gutted and bleeding on the barren island --

Benny forced an arm beneath him, allowing Dean’s barbarous thrusts to drive his straining cock into his fist, the hunter stabbing into his sweet-spot like a taser to the elusive place where lust resides --

And his orgasm was strong enough to steal his senses, blinding him to the exultant shout and shuddering flood that heralded the culmination of the hunter’s delusional revenge.

 

Benny was still shuddering, floating on bliss, when Dean rolled off of him.  The vampire closed his eyes, bones melded into the ground, feeling warm for the first time since he had awoken in this place.  But Purgatory did not tolerate bliss, and he found that despite his current state of enveloping euphoria, part of him was still turned outward, alert to danger.

 

So he was aware of Dean moving away.

 

Heard the soft sounds of the man bathing in the stream.

Felt him return to their small sanctuary.

“B-Benny?”  His voice was a metric ton of banked snow, quivering on the verge of an avalanche.

“Mm-mmm,” he hummed, pushing up on one hand to favor the man with a lazy smile.  “You back for more, Hoss?”

He tripped back, sitting down hard.  “No! God, no!” He looked away, chin trembling.  “I-I’m sorry, Ben.” He wiped a hand over his face, then scrummed it down his chest.  “I don’t know what happened.”

 _Shit_ .  Benny closed his eyes briefly, an internal shrug.   _Better than nothin’, I guess._

He rolled to his back, bending his knees to reach his pants, then planting his feet and raising his hips  to tug his clothing back into place.

He only winced a little.

“Those nasty little bastards poisoned you.  Got it gone with a bit of Cajun magic.” He flashed even white teeth in self-amusement, then sobered.  “Had you hallucinatin’.”

Denim grumbled over stone as Dean crossed his legs, hunching over his open flannel.  “Did I...I thought…”

“You kept talkin’ to Alastair.”

Dean buried his face in his hands.  “Christ, Benny. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, me, too.  Sorry you didn’t know it was me.  Sorry it was over so quick, though I admit that was partly my fault.”  Blue eyes that had seen too much and missed nothing probed at the curled hunter.  “Sorry that it isn't likely to happen again.”

“How can you say that?” Remorse and past horror roughened his voice.  “I fucking _raped_ you, Ben.”

The vampire chuckled, low and deep and ironically seductive.  “Oh, did you, now? Is that what you think happened?”

“You didn’t….I didn’t….”

“Dean, you were hurt, poisoned, sick as hell and weak as a kitten.  You don’t think I coulda stopped you?” He rolled onto his knees, shuffling closer.  “You don’t remember how I’ve asked you for this, over and over, since we first met?”

From beneath the shelter of his hands, Dean shook his head in negation.  “This wasn’t...this wasn’t what you wanted. I thought you were someone else.  Someone I was trying to hurt.”

“You think I expected flowers?  Wanted you to whisper sweet nothin’s in my ear?”  Irritation edged his voice. “I like men because I like _men_ , Dean.  Not because there ain’t so many women down here.” He knee-walked forward until his thigh rested against the hunter’s boot.  “And do you know _why_ I like men, Dean?” His hand flicked out, gripping the hunter’s hair close to his scalp, wrenching the man’s face from his palms.  “Because men are _rough_.” He leaned in, tongue snaking out to rake over the hunter’s plump lower lip before his teeth closed on it. He sucked the smooth fullness into his mouth, allowing his fangs to descend, scoring the soft flesh as he pulled away.

His pupils flared, lust spiking at the taste of the man on his lips.

“So you best watch your back, ‘cause if I ever catch me one o’ them zombie-monkey-lookin’ little freaks, I’ma harvest some of its juice.  See if I can’t get you to do that to me one more time.”

 

Dean stared at him, eyes dry, fingertips playing along his bloodied lip.

 

The vampire held his gaze.

 

Dean looked away, uncharacteristically shy.

“Thanks, Benny.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reverend Horton Heat - The Devil's Chasing Me  
> Season 8, episode 2


	4. That Old Familiar Pain

* * *

  
  


Hellcats are vicious beasts, and they really don’t like being interrupted while they’re mating.

Not that Dean and  Benny had intentionally walked in on that; they’d been following a lead, just like every other day that month, and it had brought them to a cave beside a stream.

The shrieks coming from the dim opening had certainly sounded like a fight to the death, and Dean had plunged in, a fear-filled “Cas!” rebounding off of the rock wall.

Benny had followed, unflinching, and was brought up hard by a collision with the hunter’s back.

Dean’s drawn out, “Ssshhhhh--iiiiitttt,” was followed by a sincere but ineffective, “Sorry, guys!” before he turned, spinning the vampire with him, and bolted for the exit.

 

There were two enraged monsters right on their heels.

 

 

Adrenaline kicked Benny’s brain into autopilot.  He registered the way Dean’s dive-roll carried the hunter off to the side, and mimicked the motion.  He came to his feet and was instantly struck in the chest by a being he could feel but barely see, and called out “Hellcat!”, trusting the hunter’s training and knowledge to guide him from there.

And then his entire focus was on the thing straddling him, on trying to prevent it from sinking its claws into his skull to decapitate him long enough for him to do the same to it.

He’d jammed a blade into the side of the monster's neck, jerking it across whenever an arm could unwrap itself from his head long enough to do so, victory winking at him, just within in reach -- 

 

And the creature closed its jaws over the vampire’s arms and skull, rolling to its back and rabbit-kicking with its hindlimbs, shredding Benny’s abdomen.

 

He must have cried out, and he must have sounded like he was dying, because the monster released its hold so that a final powerful thrust launched him into the air. 

He landed on his back and immediately curled onto his side, cradling his exposed intestines in his arms, struggling to stay conscious.

And Dean was there, swinging his obsidian blade in a powerful two-handed grip with a roar more terrifying than any emitted by either cat.  

His first blow blocked a swipe from the beast’s forelimb, separating it from the cat’s body.

The return stroke removed its head.

 

Dean dropped to one knee, panting. He stared hard at the intricately camoflauged Hellcats, alert to any sign of life.

When none came, he crawled on hands and knees to the fallen vampire.  “Benny?”

_I’m okay, Hoss,_ he tried to say, but all that came out was a wet moan.

“Jesus.  Ben.”

Beneath the long streaks of congealing feline blood, the hunter’s face had paled.  His hands hovered, as if afraid to touch his mortally wounded friend.

A deep laceration on one forearm soaked the sleeve of the man's jacket.

More than ever, the vampire craved human blood, instinct driving it to seek that which would  heal. 

He snarled, fangs revealed.

Dean startled back, then glanced down at his arm.  “Oh. Oh!”

He peeled off his coat, then his damaged flannel.  “Easy, Benny. Easy.” He placed the flat of his uninjured hand against the vampire’s chest, steadying him while he brought the injured arm up, hovering just out of reach of his friend’s gnashing teeth.

Blood streamed from the deep wound, painting a trail along the vampire’s chest, over his neck, across his bearded chin, to the open cavern of his mouth.

 

Benny drank.

 

His intestines tightened, coiling on themselves, withdrawing into the sanctuary of his body cavity.

 

He drank.

 

Muscle fibers knit together, sealing his organs in.

 

He drank.

 

Weakness and pain faded to a manageable level, and his vision cleared.

 

He saw Dean above him, face pinched in both pain and concentration, milking the blood from his arm.

He raised his own hand, pushing feebly against  his friend. “Enough, Hoss. I’ll live now. But if you keep that up, you won’t.”

Dean half fell from his knees to his seat, pulling his arm in tight against his body to staunch the flow of blood.  “You need more.”

“I could suck you dry and not get enough.”  Benny chuckled at his double entendre. “I got all you can afford to give, Chief.  Le’s get inside the cave before anything else comes along. We ain’t exac’ly at our fightin’ best right now.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, okay.”

Dean took a moment to dig a strip of cloth, scavenged from an earlier humanoid kill, from one of his coat pockets.  He wrapped his arm clumsily, knotting the fabric with his teeth. “Alright. Let’s get you inside.”

 

* * *

 

 

Benny leaned his back against the wall of the cave, watching through eyes heavy with exhaustion as his  hunter worked to make the shelter safer by dragging the Hellcat’s bodies in front of the entrance. 

“Anythin’ that sees that oughta think twice ‘bout findin’ out what killed ‘em,” Benny drawled, fatigue drawing  out his vowels while truncating his words.

“Figured it’d disguise our smell, too.”

“Mmm.  Goo’ thought.”  His eyes drifted closed.

“Hey, Benny!  Don’t check out on me yet.  I gotta ask you somethin’.”

“Answer’s ‘yes’, De’.  Always gonna be ‘yes’.”  He hadn’t opened his eyes.

“It’s...that’s not what...Jesus, Benny!  I need to know if any other blood will heal you.”

“Mmmm…”  his mind was drifting, his answer automatic.  “Werewolf. Werecat. Anything that used to be human.  Or could be again.”

“Awesome.”   Dean patted his friend’s shin.  “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

Benny had succumbed to sleep, and never heard  his friend leave.

 

* * *

  
  


He did hear the muffled protestations of the young werewolf that Dean carried in, slung over his shoulders in what looked like an effortless fireman’s carry.

He dropped the bound and gagged monster beside his friend, planting a foot on the thing’s chest to prevent it from squirming away.  “I hope one’s enough. I tried for two, but -- “ he eased his arm away from his side, revealing the end of what looked like a broken-off horn stuck through his side, “ -- the other one had a wraith’s spike it was using as a weapon.”  He looked down at himself, wincing. “Don’t know why the asshole couldn’t stick to teeth and claws like a good little werewolf.”

The captive shouted something that sounded vaguely threatening but completely unintelligible through its gag.  “You wanna….?” Dean waved a hand at the struggling creature. “I might need a little help here.”

Benny rolled onto the offering, fangs digging into its neck, and the sluggish churn of tainted blood through his body sped his healing nonetheless, soothing burning agony down to a dull ache.  The liquid sweetened and thinned as the werewolf reached the end of its life, turning human as it died.

Benny lay still for a moment, savoring the heat in his body that had concentrated in his groin, letting it rock through him, wash over damaged tissue  and repair it, spread like a fine mist through his entire being before dissipating into nothing.

He  rolled back onto his seat.  Dean toed the corpse’s hip. “Is that?...Does he?...”

A lazy smiled revealed the tips of the vampire’s fangs.  “You didn’t know that? Draw it off nice and slow, the brain gets deprived of oxygen, and it flips a switch.  Most’ll at least get an erection.” He flicked his eyebrows up. “‘Less it’s me bleedin’ ‘em. Then they usually get off, too.”  He shrugged. “Not the worst way to die.”

Benny watched his friend’s eyes lose focus.  “No. ‘S not.” 

Dean swayed, then went down on one knee.  “Fuck.”

Benny was beside him, palm steady on the front of the hunter’s shoulder.  “Easy, friend, easy.” He explored the wound with gentle fingers. “It goes all the way through?”   _ And he carried that wolf back here…. _

“Uhm.  Think so.”  His head tipped forward.  “Does it?”

“Yeah, you asshole, it does.”   _ Shit _ .  “I don’t think it hit anything vital, or you wouldn’ta been able to lug that carcass back here, but I do know it can’t stay in there.”   _ Shit shit shit. _

“Hospital?”  Dean asked, then sniggered.

“Not funny, Hoss.”   _ Gonna bleed, get infected...Shit. _

“Gotta pull it out...gonna bleed….”

“Yeah.  Thanks for the heads up.”  He lifted the hunter’s left palm, placing it flat against the cave wall.  “Can you stay up like that?”

“Yes, sir.”  Dean managed to make the acquiescence into something sarcastic.

The vampire ignored the tone, searching their clothes and those of the dead werewolf for anything that might be useful.

He pulled two vials from the wolf’s pockets, opening each and sniffing them carefully.  

“Dragon spit.”

“Hmmm?”  Dean asked, chin on his chest, eyes closed.  “‘S that some kin’a Purgatory curse?”

“No.  It’s what’s going to save your ass, Chief.”  

 

The vampire worked quickly after that, emptying one of the vials into an all-purpose tin cup, then using a strip of cloth to soak up the viscous substance.  “Hang on, Dean. This might hurt a little.” He wrapped his fist around the narrow portion of spike that protruded through the back of Dean’s jacket, steadying it while he sawed the tip off.

Dean groaned, and he gripped the opposite end.  “Benny...fuck….”

“Got it, Chief.”  He looked around, fingers raking through the sandy bottom of the cave, and came up with a rib bone.  He held it against the rock wall and hit it sharply with the handle of his dagger, shattering the old, brittle relic.  He selected a shard, extracted the wet cloth from the mug, and used the sliver of bone to push the material through the spike.

When he could see it come through the end in Dean’s palm, he took a deep breath.  “I’m gonna pull this out now, Boss. You ready for that?”

Benny leaned forward, pressing his shoulder to the man’s chest, feeling the breath heave in and out  of his friend. He reached around behind him, twining the cloth strip between his fingers.

“I’s okay, you know.”  Dean had tipped his head, resting it against Benny’s, his breath a soft brush against the vampire’s skin.  “Al did stuff like this plenty a times.” The vampire felt a shudder work its way through the man’s frame. “He got off on it.”

Benny closed his eyes.  “I’m not Alastair. I don’t like hurtin’ you, and I sure as hell don’t get off on it.”

“I know, B.  ‘S not what I meant.  Meant i’s okay. I know how to handle it.  ‘S okay. Jus’ do it fast, alright? Don’ draw it out.”

“You sure, Hoss?”

He waited through three hard breaths.

“Do it.”  Dean’s voice was strong, ringing with the command.

Benny jerked hard on the impaling spike, shoulder solidly against the hunter’s body, and Dean’s right hand rose to twist into the vampire’s clothing, head turning away to choke a strangled scream into his own chest.

Benny dropped the spike to wrap his arm around his friend, holding him up when the weakness hit and Dean sagged, his entire body vibrating with misery.

Cloth trailed through the ragged wound in his side.

“Bleedin’.”  The word was felt more than heard on the skin against the vampire’s neck.

“Yeah. Got a plan for that, but we gotta get these clothes off of ya.”   _ Don’t want to risk starting them on fire _ , but he decided to keep that detail to himself.

Dean straightened, arm a solid pillar between his torso and the cave wall once more.  “Always tryin’ t’ get my clothes off…”

Benny chuckled, but there was no humor in it.  “If you’re real good, I’ll let ya keep your pants this time.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The vampire lifted an eyebrow.  “You’re such a tease.” 

“Wasn’t teasin’ th’ other day.”

Benny paused in the act of peeling the man’s jacket and flannel off to assess him more closely.  “You alright, Hoss?”

Dean’s head was  hanging, eyes closed.  “Maybe not ‘nough blood t’ my brain,” he admitted, and rubbed his hand over the front of his jeans absently.

“Shit.”  Benny moved faster, tearing cloth in his haste.

“Tha’s my fav’rit shirt.”

“It’s your only shirt, you dumb bastard.  I’ll get you a new one.” The hunter’s torso was bare, and the vampire could see the blood draining out of him, soaking not only his jeans but also the sandy floor on which they knelt.  “Not gonna lie: this is gonna hurt like a bitch.”

He raised the end of the wet cloth to his mouth and blew on it.

It burst into a blue-white flame, invisible on the cloth itself, but shot through the center of the hunter and emerged on the other side.

Dean shouted, throat too constricted for anything sharper, and his hands shot toward his abdomen, only to be caught and crushed together in the vice-like grip of one of the vampire’s hands.  

“Leave it!  Just a little longer!”

“No!”  Dean writhed against the vampire’s grip, twisting his hips and torso, jerking hard with his shoulders, desperate for escape.  “Alastair! Please!” He threw his head back and roared, a mix of unbearable agony and frustration and hopelessness powering the sound.

The cloth disintegrated, and the flames went with it.

Dean sagged into the vampire’s arms, body limp, sweat-slick, and shaking.

 

He was out cold.

 

“Easy, Hoss.  Easy,” Benny murmured in his ear.  He gently lowered his friend to the ground, positioning him on his side, keeping pressure off of the blackened wound.

The bleeding had stopped.

“You’re gonna be okay, Chief. Gonna be okay.”

He carefully worked the wet denim off the man, then covered the unconscious hunter with clothes he’d taken from the werewolf's body before easing behind him, snaking the pillow of his arm beneath the hunter’s cheek.  The other slipped under scavenged clothing to rest gently over the cauterized wound on the man’s abdomen, drawing heat into the chill of his palm. “Sleep, Baby. I gotcha.”

Neither noticed the endearment that had slipped through the vampire’s defenses.

 

* * *

  
  


“Don’ leave,” Dean mumbled, not opening his eyes.

“Got to.  You need water, and food, too, if you’re gonna get your strength back.”

“Water.  No food. Can’t.”

“Alright. Hold tight.  I’ll be right back.”

True to his word, he returned, crouching next to his friend, supporting the man’s head while holding a mug of clear, cold stream-water to his lips.  “Drink, boss. Nice and slow.”

He fed it to the man in small, careful sips until  the cup was empty. “More?”

“In a bit, Hoss.  Gotta make sure that settles first.”  He slid in behind his hunter, and Dean leaned back into him.  

“Hand?”

The vampire chuckled as he complied, cupping the hunter’s injured side.  “Even beat to hell, you still gotta be in charge.”

“‘S not bein’ in charge.  Jus’ feels good.” Sleep was claiming him.  “‘S like a Benny ice pack.”

The vampire’s laugh was an unfamiliar rumble in his chest.  “You say so, Chief.” He nuzzled into the short hair at the nape of the man’s neck, both of them using Benny’s arm as a pillow.  “Go back to sleep. You need it.”

“Yes, Mom,” he murmured, and then he was silent.

 

* * *

  
  


“Ungha.”  Dean grunted, breath hard  and uneven. “Nnnnn…”

“Shhh,” Benny used his thumb to stroke circles on the man’s skin.  

Dean grunted, limbs twitching, and his head jerked as if dodging a blow.

“It’s  okay, Chief.  You’re okay.”

“Grruh!”  His body convulsed, that I-feel-like-I’m-falling lunge of self-preservation, and the man gasped, hand shooting to his side.  “Shit.”

“You okay, Hoss?”

Dean’s body was clenched, protesting the shattering agony that he had awakened to.

He lay quiet, trembling, held breath waiting for permission to ease its way out of his nostrils.

“What can I do, Dean?”

He heard the man swallow.  “Thumb. Circles. Need something….”

“Something good to feel?”

He nodded tightly.

The vampire’s thumb resumed stroking in slow, lazy circles.

Dean breathed, slow and careful, body still tight.  Trembling.

Benny brought his lips to the back of his hunter’s neck, breath tickling the short hairs there.  His tongue flicked out, caressing skin, and Dean hummed quietly, torso softening.

Lips came next, a gentle suction, and he lifted his hands to slide his fingertips along the hollow of Dean’s hip, then up along the sharp jut of bone, repeating the motion in long, smooth glides.

“Gettin’ better?”

“Yeah….”

He got a little bolder, indulging a fantasy to run his palm up the man’s back, following over the curve of his shoulder to the firm swell of his pectoral muscle, circling one nipple tauntingly until Dean drew his arm back, the barest hint of a motion, granting access, giving permission, and Benny caressed it with the ball of his thumb before pinching, then twisting the hardened flesh.

Dean moaned, and Benny pressed up against his back more tightly, hand traveling down the tight skin of the hunter’s abdomen, riding high when he got to the level of Dean’s navel, back to his hipbone before tucking just the tips of his fingers into the junction of hip and thigh, waiting.

“Benny.”  It was a plea and a command, and Dean shifted, right hip tilting back, bringing his erection closer until Benny was there, fingers a cool whisper against hot velvet, and he traced every millimeter of turgid flesh as if memorizing its features, until Dean was nearly whimpering, the name “Benny” a cry in this throat.

The vampire opened his mouth over the thick muscle at the base of Dean’s neck, allowing the pinch of fangs to graze his skin, feeling the hunter’s abdomen convulse in reaction.

He dug his  hand, palm up, in the space between Dean’s cock and belly, and closed, coating his hand with precum as he curved over the swollen head, dragging it down, retracting his fangs and biting into the man’s trapezius with blunt human teeth.

“Be-Ben.”

He shifted up on one elbow, and the motion allowed Dean’s head to drop further to the side, exposing more of his neck to the vampire’s hunger.  He pressed his clothed erection into the hunter’s naked ass, the firm heat of it providing the perfect amount of friction.

His hand, mouth, and hips moved in conjunction, and although Dean still trembled, his body had gone liquid.

“Ben.”

He sounded so lost, so desperate, and the vampire knew his friend was close, knew what the hunter craved.

He drew his lips back, fangs descending, and sank them in a shallow bite right behind the curve of the man’s jaw.

Dean shouted, body convulsing, and thick ropes of semen coated the sand from his chin to the vampire’s hand, white and glistening and vital.

 

He sagged bonelessly into the vampire’s willing embrace.

“You feel better, Hoss?”  Benny found the shirt and jacket that had slid off of his friend, tugging them back over his shoulder.

“Yeah.”  He squirmed, pressing closer.  “Thanks, Benny.”

“My pleasure, Chief.  Always my pleasure.”


	5. We Gotta Get Out Of This Place

* * *

  
  


“What happens in Purgatory stays in Purgatory, right?”  Dean growled into Benny’s ear, and the vampire vibrated with lust.

“Yes, Sir.”

“This never makes it topside.  Once we get back there,  _ this  _ never happened.”

“You got it, Chief.”  _Whatever you want._   _ Just please don’t stop now. _

Benny closed his eyes, lowering his head.  Desire shuddered through him as he listened to the distinctive sound of a belt buckle coming undone, of metal teeth zippering apart, of denim skating down sparsely-haired skin.

Benny waited to be given permission to follow suit.

 

“Strip.”

 

There was no leniency in the word.

The vampire removed his clothes with efficiency born of eagerness, afraid that at any moment his morally burdened hunter would change his mind, leaving Benny swollen and aching; unfulfilled.

The hunter’s body slotted up against him from behind.  “You better hang onto something,” and lust sobbed in Benny’s chest.

_ Fuck fuck fuck.  He’s going to…Brutal.  It’s going to be brutal.   _

Benny’s knees weakened at the thought.

Dean bucked up against him, erection hot and dry between the vampire’s thighs, crushing his testicles to force its way to the front, creating delicious friction against the underside of Benny’s shaft.

The vampire moaned at the combined pain and pleasure.

Dean lifted the vampire’s left hand, placing it firmly against the trunk of a tree while his own returned to the other’s body, finding purchase on Benny’s hip.

His right circled around, gripping them both in a dry stroke that had Benny leaking precum and panting the hunter’s name as a whispered plea: “ _ Dean _ .”

The  hunter rocked his hips, licking a stripe along the nape of the vampire’s neck.  Then both hands rose, one tugging sharply on Benny’s hair, drawing his head back to rest on Dean’s shoulder, the other rising to the vampire’s face.

“Fangs,” Dean commanded, the abrasive skin of his cheek hot against Benny’s, and the vampire drew his lips back in either a grimace or a tight smile.

Dean held his breath as he pressed the inside of his wrist against vampiric teeth.  “Bite.”

Bloodlust joined sexual heat, boiling up through the vampire’s soul, and he obeyed, teeth claiming flesh, lips tightening to create suction, sweet-salty life flowing into him, eyes glazing over --

Dean pulled away, palm out.  “Spit.”

The vampire did, watching through slitted eyes as the blood-and-saliva filled palm moved out of his line of sight.

Dean drew his hips back, and Benny felt his moan as the hunter pressed his swollen cock into the viscous mess in his hand.  The fingers of his left dug in to the curve of the vampire’s ass cheek, right at the triple juncture with his left thigh and the other half of his ass, and pulled.  He pressed his bleeding wrist to the exposed area, lubricating the opening that he planned to abuse.

Benny shuddered, picturing it, and wasn’t certain that he could hold off long enough to see this through.

He was so close.

And then Dean’s cockhead replaced  his wrist, a firm pressure against the vampire’s hole, not fumbling or uncertain, but sure, promising to breach whatever defenses he came to, whenever and however he liked.

Benny swallowed hard,  _ Not yet.  Don’t cum yet _ , a constant mantra in the front of his mind.

Strong fingers bruised his hips.  The pressure increased, a tearing burn that was there and gone, replaced by a hot sweet ache as the hunter slid into him, forehead pressed to the vampire’s neck, breathe stuttering against his skin.

“Shit, Benny.  You’re so fucking tight.”

Benny moaned, tipping his head back against Dean’s.  “I’m close, Chief. So close.”

Dean’s hips jumped in reaction, driving a moan from him.  “Fuck. Don’t say shit like that, Ben.” He held himself still, sheathed as deeply as he could go, the heat of his own blood contrasting starkly with the chill of undead flesh.  His mouth closed on the thick muscle running from the vampire’s neck to his shoulder, teeth compressing without penetrating, and he felt the other quiver.

“Dean.”

The hunter moved his wrist to the vampire’s mouth once more.  “Suck.”

Tender bite of needling fangs, erotic suction, and Dean drew his hips back slowly, thrusting in hard, then repeated the motion twice more.

He pulled his wrist away, palm hovering, lips dancing up the vampire’s neck, teeth grazing the edge of his ear.

“Spit,” he whispered, voice hoarse, and the vampire obeyed.

Dean lowered his hand, groaning when he found his friend painfully engorged, teetering on the edge of release, and he wrapped his sticky fist around the vampire’s cock, out in front of them, so much like stroking his own erection.  His left arm circled Benny’s waist to support him as the vampire’s knees buckled, then caught, pushing him back into the rhythmic thrust of the strict discipline of the hunter’s turgid rod.

“Dean.”  Again, it was a plea, tense desperation on the brink of becoming frantic.

“Tell me what you need, Benny.”

“You.  Harder. More.”

Dean shifted, widening his stance, bending his knees.  His left arm rose beneath the vampire’s armpit, crossing his chest to clamp down on top of the opposite shoulder.  “Cum for me, Benny,” and he pushed the vampire down onto the bludgeoning force of his own ecstasy as he hammered up into him, driving with enough force to rock the vampire up on his toes, grunting at each impact of his pelvis with Benny’s hips -- 

 

“Ungh --”

“Shit --”

“Ben--”

 

Until the vampire’s hand wrapped around the back of the hunter’s skull, talons digging in, and Dean bit down hard on the junction of neck to shoulder as the vampire raised his face to the sky, lips drawn back, fangs fully extended, pulsing strongly in the tight circle of Dean’s fist, coating the tree and the forest floor with the proof of his euphoria seconds before the hunter filled him with liquid heat, and for a few moments, Benny imagined that he was alive again, Dean’s semen becoming hot blood pulsing through his core.

 

The mingled echoes of their primal shouts stunned every Purgatory creature that heard it into awed silence.

 

* * *

  
  


They went to their knees.

Then, by mutual, unspoken consent, eased over onto their right sides.

Dean bent his elbow, supporting his own head on his palm while Benny rested against his bicep.  His other arm draped over the vampire’s torso, and their legs were tangled together randomly.

Benny floated, caring less about the unnatural stillness of the forest around them than he should have, focused on the pleasing glow that suffused his bones and the warm length of the hunter against his back.

Dean’s fingers stirred, stroking his skin, and Benny realized that he no longer wanted to leave Purgatory.  

Not if it meant giving up _this_.

He slid his hand into the hunter’s, raising it to his lips.

Snaked his tongue out to separate one strong finger, pulling it into his mouth.

Fangs prickled, an electric touch that failed to penetrate, and he sucked lightly before releasing the man.

Dean chuckled, a warm reverberation against Benny’s back, tickling the short hairs on the nape of his neck.  “Blood junky.”

Benny hummed, sliding his thumb over the thick vein on the man’s forearm.  “Good thing my favorite hunter has a fang kink.”

Dean gripped the vampire’s shoulder, rolling him onto his back while sliding his own body over to cover the other’s, his heat permeating the vampire’s natural chill.  

“Damned straight,” and his mouth descended, tongue probing beneath the vampire’s lips, stroking along his gums.

Benny shifted until their groins were aligned, his legs framing his hunters, and he slid his palms down the man’s back from broad shoulders to the rounded muscles of his glutes, digging in as he pressed up.

He moaned into Dean’s mouth.

His eyes glittered as the man pulled back to look at him.  “I do believe I’ve created a monster, Chief.”

Dean bit his lip, and Benny could see that the Puritan ethic the man had been bred into still preached fire and brimstone in the confines of his mind.

“Was it good, Hoss?”  he coaxed, hoping to be heard over the din of the hunter’s over-active conscience.

“Yeah.  It’s not….  I couldn’t….”  He started to move away, and the vampire dug his claws in, holding him in place.

“Couldn’t what, Dean?”

He looked away, and Benny felt the heat of the man’s shame creep up his chest, into his neck, sliding along his cheeks.  “You said you like guys because they’re rough. I don’t think...I’ve never been that...brutal...with a chic.” His eyes sought the vampire's, then shifted away again.  “Still feel like…”

Benny loosened his hold, stroking the faint punctures he had made.  “You didn’t hurt me, Dean. Didn’t do anything I didn’t like.  Hell, that I wasn’t _begging_ you for.”

“Yeah.”  His pupils were wide, and Benny felt heat growing in the man’s groin.  “Still feels selfish.”

The vampire chuckled.  “I came so hard I thought my eyeballs exploded.  I don’t think that’s selfish, Chief.”

Dean studied him, clearly searching for the truth in his friend’s eyes.  

Then he smiled, the boy he had been clearly revealed, and leaned down to lick the vampire’s lips one more time.   “Son of a bitch, you are potent.  I could go again, right now.”

But he pushed up, started gathering his clothes.  

“Play time’s over, Boss?”

Dean tugged his jeans over his hips.  “‘Fraid so. Got an angel to locate.”

Benny sat up, a rueful smile tugging at sex-bruised lips.  “You’ll understand if I say I ain’t in any hurry to find him, right?”

Dean sobered.  “What happens in Purgatory stays in Purgatory...right?”  This time it was a question, heavy with uncertainty, not the confirmation of earlier.  The conflicted look was back in his eyes.

“Only if you want it to, Dean.”

The hunter tucked his hands into the front pockets of jeans, and the line of his profile stood out, silver against a background dark of trees.

Benny counted each breath in the rise and fall of his friend’s chest: 

 

_ One. _

_ Two. _

_ Three. _

 

“Let’s go find Cas.”  Dean turned away.

And although his voice had been gentle, it sliced like a dull blade through the vampire’s soul.

 

* * *

 

Following up on the hundredth lead from a terrified monster facing the legendary Dean Winchester and all the uncertainty of a the great unknown, Benny trailed behind his hunter, nearly humming in his contentment.

 

And then Dean stopped, hope tightening his shoulders, and Benny’s heart twisted.

 

A dirty figure in a soiled trench coat squatted below them, apparently washing his face in the stream. 

“Cas!” 

 

Purgatory was again a gray world of terror and hate.

The life that Dean had poured into him drained away, and Benny shivered with the sudden chill.

 

“What happens in Purgatory stays in Purgatory,” he reminded himself, and he followed the hunter down to meet his longed-for  angel.

  
  



End file.
